


Mirage

by norsko



Category: Original Work
Genre: Action/Adventure, Demons, Supernatural Elements, Vampires, WIP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-11
Updated: 2016-12-11
Packaged: 2018-09-07 20:58:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8816065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/norsko/pseuds/norsko
Summary: Erin Takashima thought the vampire progenitor was dead. He'd seen her die, turned to dust by his older brother's hands.But he couldn't mistake the woman stepping from the mirror for anyone else. She was back.
And she was thirsting for his blood.





	

**Author's Note:**

> just a wip I'd written a while ago when I was stuck. A bit spoilery, but consider it a taste of whats to come (if I ever get around to it)

  Have you ever felt inexplicable fear?

Terror so ingrained in your psyche, in every fibre of your being, it left you paralysed to the spot, left your mind reeling—it stole your breath, stole your courage, stole your ability to think and move? Horror so absolute, so all-encompassing, so… _irrational,_ it left you trapped with no way out, just you and your own personal nightmare?

 

  That was the kind of terror Erin Takashima was feeling in that moment.

 

  He thought she was gone—he saw her _die_. Saw her body turn to stone, saw it crumble to dust when his older brother touched her petrified form. It was… man, it was so _long_ ago, but every tiny detail of that day was ingrained in Erin’s mind, sitting in the back of his consciousness ready to pounce if he wasn’t careful. The memories of the demons that attacked his home, killed his comrades, and changed his family forever… he was plagued by them only in his sleep. Nowhere else. He wouldn’t give the memories the satisfaction.

  But every single one of them came back in that moment, the moment he saw the vampire-demon step out from the mirror, a great silver disc with a liquid surface perched a foot or so above the ground.

  Erin had thought he’d be prepared for whatever horror would surface from the mirror.

  He’d been gravely mistaken.

 

  A voice called into his ears from the distance, but he couldn’t hear a thing. All he could focus his attention on was the woman in front of him.

  She was… she was exactly how he remembered her in his dreams—in his nightmares. A tank top, one strap loose, clung to caramel shoulders; shredded jeans beyond what should’ve been fashionably acceptable wrapped around a curvy waist. Raven-black locks were barely contained in a loose ponytail, free hairs tucked behind pointed, elf-like ears around a face so gorgeous and impossible it looked like it was carved out of marble.

  But what caught Erin’s eyes the most, as it always does when he looks into his older brother’s face, were the vampire’s eyes. A vibrant, impossible red the colour of wine in the sun, her pupils—vertical, like a snake’s—glowing within with their own luminous orange light. A vampire—no, a _Vorvintti’s_ eyes, eyes he’s had to look into for the past seven years every day whenever he’s looked at his older brother.

  He’d gotten used to it in the face of his family, but seeing it once again in _her_ face was a shock he couldn’t stomach.

 

  She smiled.

  Rafaella. The demon that had devoured his brother’s life. _Smiled._

    “Haven’t we met before?” she said with that horrible smile that didn’t quite meet her eyes.

  Erin shuddered at the monstrous fangs glistening between her plump lips. Rafaella stepped away from the mirror and waltzed lazily about the hall, her gaze drifting absently from the bare concrete walls, the one stain-glass window above the mirror and the only exit—a door across the hall, Erin the only obstacle standing between her and freedom.

 

    “…We have,” Erin answered slowly, a giddy, nervous smile he couldn’t contain tugging at his lips. His body was itching with anticipation for a fight; he could barely contain his fingers from twitching on their own, from his muscles tensing.

  Rafaella pondered his answer, her head tilted like an animal listening to something strange. He’d seen Morgan, his older brother, do this countless times, but he did it more as joke than for real. He fiddled with the multitude of leather wristbands and metal bracelets on his right hand as Rafaella’s eyes grew slightly distant as she searched through her memories.

  Erin waited, hardly patient, but curious to see how she’d react.

  Her eyes widened suddenly. There we go.

    “You… can’t be. Right?”

  Erin shrugged. “Up to you. Who do _you_ think I am?”

    “That brat—Morgan’s little brother.” Her gaze grew distant, eyes focused on something past Erin. “No I—you were there. I remember you. Yes, you… you had the chrysalis,” she began gesturing, as though replaying a scene she only just remembered in front of her. “You gave it to Morgan. He… he killed me with it,” she placed her palm against her chest. “I… I died.”

    “You did,” Erin supplied.

    “And you… you _helped him do it.”_

  Erin’s forehead itched, his spine tingling uncontrollably. Rafaella burst forward, anger carrying her further than any kind of vampiric power ever could. Her movements were a blur as she drew her right hand back into a dagger, her nails stronger and sharper than any weapon she could use.

  The vampire plunged her wrist into Erin’s chest.

 

  And that’s what Erin supposed Rafaella would have wanted.

  What she expected to happen.

  She was gravely mistaken.

Erin had grabbed her wrist at the last second, stopping it inches from where his heart was hammering in his chest with the familiar pounding of battle anticipation. She frowned, glancing down at her hand then at Erin’s face, before taking her left wrist and plunging it into his gut.

  Once again, this was what Erin guessed Rafaella wanted. And once again, it didn’t work; he’d stopped the deadly talons inches before they’d come into contact with the fabric of his shirt.

  Rafaella was seriously perplexed.

  More than that though, she was _pissed._ Erin’s forehead flared with pain, nearly making him wince. An image of Rafaella flashed in his mind, superimposed on the vampire dead-locked in front of him. The image—that’s what Erin had come to call them, but they were more like impressions of the future—pulled her arms back, drawing Erin close enough for her to tear into his throat with her vampire teeth. He probably had a few seconds at best before that particular future would come to pass. Erin released Rafaella’s wrists immediately after the impression tore into his throat, leaping back as far as he could without using his full strength and possibly smashing through the roof in the process.

    “Why did you let me go?” Rafaella asked while she rubbed at her wrists. They were bruised, but healed nearly instantaneously; Erin hadn’t realised how hard he must have been holding her.

    “Just a hunch,” Erin said with a wan smile.

  Rafaella appraised him silently for a few seconds. “…Don’t think this means I won’t… _spare you…!”_ She punctuated these last few words by bounding forward, both her hands furious spears. She swiped across Erin’s face, and he dodged cleanly to the side. Rafaella didn’t let up, however—she continued her barrage, swiping left and right, over and over with tireless determination.

  It wouldn’t work.

As her swipes were getting more and more desperate, she punctuated each swing with “Why… Can’t… I…Hit… You!” She finished this last word by going in for an underhanded blow that Erin had seen coming through another superimposed image of Rafaella flickering across his vision.

    “Whoa, nearly got me there,” he remarked. It wasn’t a complete lie, either; without the glyph tattooed to his forehead concealed beneath his rusty-orange bangs he would’ve died ages ago.

    “You’re… you’re _toying_ with me!”

    _Uh oh,_ Erin thought. He’d really pissed her off now.

  Rafaella’s body began to glow. No, more accurately, it was the blood in her veins that began to burn, like metal in a furnace. Again, it was a sight Erin had come used to seeing in his brother; seeing it from the source was… wrong somehow.

  She was about to burst forward for another attack when she stopped abruptly, her hands limp at her sides as her eyes widened. “I can’t… hear you.”

 

  Erin prided himself on being pretty smart for someone who failed his magic-aptitude test—he’d aced the ink-bearing test, but that was different; no one rewarded you for how well you took a tattoo—but when he was in battle, sometimes he did forget even the simplest things. Exhibit a: _Vorvintti_ could read minds. He couldn’t understand why he’d forgotten something so simple; for a couple years after his brother was turned, Erin had had to live with having his thoughts scrutinized every day until his brother moved out and he’d gotten the glyph of insight tattooed to his forehead. Then again, it had been a few years since then, and plenty of stuff had gotten in the way.

    “Why can’t I read your thoughts!?” She was so pissed Erin could swear there was steam coming out of her ears. That wasn’t impossible; he’d seen his brother do it once when he was beyond pissed off.

  He shrugged by way of answer. Rafaella growled with frustration then leapt at Erin once again.

  Oh yeah.

  _This_ was the stuff he was after. This Rafaella was something else entirely. The fire in her veins—her ‘Sleight’, Erin remembered his brother saying—augmented every fibre of her being, from the speed of her movements to the strength of her muscles.

  Erin had a pretty good demonstration.

  She slammed her fist—a fist this time, not her claws—into his gut before he could put up his hands to stop her.

  He went flying.

  It wasn’t the first time a supernatural baddie had hit him with a falcon punch Superman would’ve been proud of, but this one was definitely one of the strongest. He toppled head over heels across the concrete floor, leaving dents in the rock as he went. With a sickening crunch he blasted into the wall across the room, coming to rest in a crater right beside the room’s only exit. It was lucky he hadn’t gone _through_ the wall, but he figured there were probably magical enchantments keeping the room intact.

  Erin groaned. “Ugh, that wasn’t… fun.” He peeled himself away from the concrete, rubble and loose rock crumbling around him as he extricated himself. Landing stiffly on his feet, he swept the white dust from the concrete off his academy uniform, coughing and swiping at the air as the dust got caught in his throat.

  Rafaella was dumbfounded.

    “Y-y-you shouldn’t be alive after that…!” It was the first time Erin had heard the woman stammer. It greatly lessened the fear he had been experiencing. With a start he realised he hardly felt any fear… at all.

  It was all in the past, he realised. His fear, his irrational terror… it was all just a remnant of when he was a helpless child, kidnapped by vampires with his comrade’s—and his brother’s—lives on the line.

  Erin was undeniably happy, but didn’t let his guard down for even a moment. Just because his fear was gone didn’t mean Rafaella was any less of a threat than she’d been all those years ago.

    “I’m alive,” Erin said, opening his arms as if he were a magician on a stage, “what are you gonna’ do about it?”

  To Erin’s surprise, she didn’t attack him. Oh her veins were still alight with fire underneath her skin, but her expression had settled into cold detachment. _This_ was also a look Erin had come very accustomed to; the emotionless, cold, lifeless look of a _Vorvintti,_ no trace of humanity left within those red, red eyes.

  She was calculating her next move, seriously contemplating how best she could orchestrate his death.

  The thought made Erin nearly jump with excitement.

  Wait. When did that happen? He _really_ wasn’t afraid anymore, what a miracle.

 

  Rafaella began walking forward, her boots scuffing lightly against the floor. After a moment Erin walked forward to meet her, his own academy-prescribed combat boots hitting the ground with a satisfying _thump_. It made him feel pretty badass, but he let the thought slip from his mind. He might’ve felt like he had the upper hand in this fight, but he couldn’t afford any distractions.

  The vampire gazed up into his eyes—Erin was dimly aware in the back of his mind that he towered over her; it was a strange contrast with his last memory of her where he barely came up to her shoulder.

    “Die,” she said simply.

  And nothing else.

  Erin blinked slowly, frowning after several seconds of nothing. “Is that it or...?”

  It was Rafaella’s turn to blink in surprise. “I told you to die,” she said, her brow creased in both frustration and concentration. Again, nothing happened.

    “…Having performance issues? We all get that sometimes—”

    “Shut up! Just… die already! Tear out your own heart, break your own neck, do _something_ for fuck’s sake!” She grabbed him by his shirt collar, tugging him toward her and shaking him with every word.

  Erin couldn’t wait anymore; he wanted to see how she’d react. “Vampire compulsion don’t work on me, sweetheart.” He pulled back his fringe, revealing a third eye tattooed in glowing, purple ink right in the middle of his forehead. Usually the glyph couldn’t be seen, invisible when it was inactive, but Rafaella’s attempts at mind-control and the imminent threat of her in general kept it in a pretty constant state of activity—Erin could feel it as a consistent pressure behind his eyes.

    “…What is that?” Rafaella sneered, glaring at the glyph.

    “Wouldn’t you like to know?” Erin answered with a smile as he danced a step back. It was lucky he did; Rafaella intended to use her innocuous question as cover for her next attack. It failed, of course. Erin had seen it coming.

  He leaned back just as a clawed hand came toward where his chest would have been.

  Rafaella stopped her attack, frustrated and exasperated. She glanced at the tattoos along his arms, the ink visible just above his shirt collar, sizing them up. She wasn’t stupid, that’s for sure; Erin guessed she already figured out the other tattoos on his body served purposes of their own as well.

    “With powers like that,” she begun through her heavy accent, “you’d make a fine soldier.”

  Rafaella burst forward, her body just an orange streak as the fire in her veins propelled her forward. She leapt behind him, clamping her lean but impossibly strong arms around Erin’s shoulders. She had him pinned.

  Erin sensed what she was about to do before she’d done it.

    “I really wouldn’t do that if I were—”

  Rafaella tore into the side of his neck.

  Erin cried out sharply, clamping his mouth shut at the pain of his torn skin and muscle. She’d dug her monstrous fangs deep into his skin, drawing as much blood as she could from the veins beneath with her razor sharp fangs.

  Erin didn’t struggle. He didn’t need to.

  After several moments of hushed silence within the chamber, the only sounds the violent intakes of Rafaella’s breath and every gulp she took of his blood, she paused.

  Then, a splutter.

  The vampire coughed, like she was choking. She let go of Erin immediately as she reached for her neck, searching for some unseen foe attacking her from the inside.

  But there was little she could do now; she’d already drunken his blood. Rafaella gurgled and choked, a profuse amount of steam erupting between her teeth as his blood scalded her skin, and her natural healing fought against that.

  Through pained, dizzy eyes, she glanced at Erin, “W-what did you do?”

  Erin gingerly patted the wound on his neck, feeling the skin already begin to knit together underneath his fingers. His chest was uncomfortably warm as the glyph above his heart worked its healing magic. He shrugged, then regretted it at the pain on his shoulder. “Gotta’ find some way to fight you monsters.”

  Which was a total lie—it was an accident his blood became holy. But he wouldn’t tell the vampire that. A strange kind of tingle shivered along Erin’s shoulder blades, a kind of buzzing under his skin. A very slight noise began to drone in the back of his ears, like white noise from a television, only right inside his head.

  It was a warning.

    _Crap, crap, crap, crap, crap…! Not now,_ not _now!_ he thought in a panic. He wasn’t ready to have the fight snatched from him so quickly, especially not with _this_ kind of enemy.

  Steaming blood splattered against the concrete as Rafaella coughed out what remained of Erin’s blood from her throat. It might’ve helped heal her mouth and throat, but the blood already ingested and floating around her system had already begun to take its toll; her breathing wasn’t laboured—she didn’t have a heartbeat for it to _be_ laboured—but her body was worn, her caramel skin pale. Most noticeably, the fire in her veins had died down considerably, now nothing but embers.

  She still had enough energy to glare daggers at him, though. “You… defended herself against me? How did you do that… with your blood?”

  Erin shrugged again, the movement sending a ripple of nerves across his shoulders. He wasn’t inclined to answer this vampire-demon; she might just find out for herself anyway.

  Rafaella clicked her tongue in annoyance. “Fine. You won’t live long enough for it to be useful for you anyway.”

    _I seriously doubt that, vampire lady,_ he thought.

  But he just might have been in more danger than he realised.

  Rafaella exploded.

 

  Exploded… probably wasn’t the right word, but it was the best thing Erin could think of in response to what he was seeing. The vampire simply burst into steam, air so hot and thick Erin had to cover his face with his hands unless the steam burnt off the delicate skin of his face.

  He was completely powerless as a figure burst through the heavy air, the steam following her as she planted her feet in the concrete… and slammed her fist into Erin’s stomach.

  It wasn’t a falcon punch this time.

  She was aiming for the kill. The breath was knocked out of him as her dagger-like fingers pierced his shirt and skin, the steam bursting from her skin super heating everything it came into contact with. The vampire held her arm there for a few seconds as the steam died down, then with a mighty wrench, pulled it free.

  The blood on her skin burnt her, but she paid it no mind. She’d gotten the job done, and that’s what mattered.

  Erin coughed, but no blood came from between his lips; she hadn’t wounded him as badly as she probably thought. There was definitely a hole in his gut, though. He couldn’t ignore that. But hopefully he wouldn’t have to; his chest was already beginning to burn—the heat slightly uncomfortable with its ferocity—as it began to heal him.

    “Ah, lady. You really—you really shouldn’t have done that,” Erin said uneasily. His shoulders were beginning to sting, like electricity buzzing just under the surface of his skin and infecting the rest of the nerves in his body. The white noise in his ears had heightened to a dull drone, one in which he could nearly make out the melody of _voices._

  She’d really done it this time.

  He might just fail with what his body was telling him to do.

    “Done what?” Rafaella asked as she shook her hand free of his blood. “Stab you? I could do it again, if you like.”

  He was beginning to lose the feeling in his arms and legs, like a robot short-circuiting. The electricity across his nerves—like pins-and-needles, only far worse than anything he’d ever felt—was whipped into an unstoppable frenzy, impossible to ignore or stop; the crucifix attached to the chain around his neck hummed against the hollow of his throat, like a phone set to vibrate, the metal uncomfortably warm against his skin.

  Erin couldn’t ignore it anymore.

  If he tried to pass it off… he didn’t know what he might’ve been capable of. No, that’s not quite right—he knew _precisely_ what he was capable of. And he didn’t want _that_ to happen again, if he could help it.

  He needed to placate it, but he couldn’t afford to lose himself to it, either. All those months, all that effort since the sword had come into his possession… it wouldn’t go to waste. Especially not here. Especially not _now._

  Erin sighed.

  He really shouldn’t keep Excalibur waiting.

 

  Rafaella’s eyes narrowed as Erin opened his, his breathing returning to normal.

    “Come to a decision, have we?” Rafaella asked.

    “Yup,” Erin answered as he yanked the crucifix from his throat, tearing it off its chain.

  Rafaella’s face was priceless. She definitely wasn’t expecting the crucifix to expand in his hand, the warm metal growing until he was holding the golden pommel of a broadsword. Loose chains burst from within the sword’s hilt, wrapping themselves tightly—but not uncomfortably—around Erin’s forearm. It wasn’t hurting him, but a shiver went up his spine anyway; he knew what those chains were capable of doing, vividly felt the ghost of the metal digging into his flesh. It was probably lucky he’d unleashed the blade when he did; he might not have been so lucky as to escape the chains hurting him the next time.

  Erin levelled the glittering silver edge of Excalibur at eyelevel. Already the blade was working its magic—the sigils along his arms were slowly turning from their vibrant blacks, oranges and blues to a glittering gold, like a virus infecting the enchanted ink in his skin. Corrupting the magic, encroaching on his skin like a cancer. It was holy energy, holy magic, for sure, but that didn’t make it any less corrosive in Erin’s eyes.

  Rafaella was shocked at first, but schooled her expression quickly into bewildered disbelief. “You’re going to kill me… with _that?”_

    “Y-yup,” Erin answered a little uneasily as Excalibur shook violently in his grip. The sword was… misbehaving. It wanted more control than it was getting. Erin wouldn’t let it have the satisfaction. It’d get what it wanted, anyway. “I really hope you put up a good fight,” he said a little wistfully as he wrestled the blade into submission.

  Rafaella pulled back her lips from her teeth in a fierce growl. Then she attacked.

 

  This wasn’t the exciting fight Erin had been waiting for. He would have been better off fighting her without the sword at all, if excitement was the thing he was after.

  Excalibur, to an extent, had a mind of its own. More than that, though, was its rampant corruption of Erin’s other glyphs and sigils; the blade was able to control the others with its magic, bring them under its influence. Admittedly it coordinated the sigil-glyphs better than Erin ever could on his own, but that just meant the fight was over that much faster.

  The moment Rafaella went in to attack, the sword was accurately measuring her movements, coordinating the insight glyph with the speed and strength sigils on Erin’s left arm. Oh he was in control, he decided _when_ he would attack, and where, but the sword… did everything else. As Rafaella fiercely swiped with a right hook, her balance was ever so slightly off—so imperceptibly, only someone super-human could see it—making her take one misstep further than she intended. Coaxed by Excalibur, Erin leapt to the side, his body working faster and smoother than it had since before he held the holy sword. With his free right hand, he grabbed Rafaella’s slim shoulder, holding her in place…

     ….before he stabbed her through the chest with the sword in his left.

 

  There’s a kind of intimacy between two people as one kills the other. When both parties are consciously participating in the act, as the victim stares into their murderer’s eyes, it’s almost as intimate as two lovers gazing into each other’s eyes. Oh the circumstance, the _feelings_ behind them are most definitely not the same, more like the intensity of the two scenarios are what share similarity. Erin had never been in a relationship, never felt the need or desire to be romantically involved, but he imagined this was the kind of feeling he might’ve been missing out on.

  It was terrifying. It was beautiful. He never wanted to feel it again.

  The hurt, the betrayal, the disbelief, the _pain_ crossed Rafaella’s eyes one after another in a dizzying blur of emotions Erin hadn’t thought the _Vorvintti_ capable of. He pulled Excalibur’s glittering silver blade back out as quickly as he could, shocked at his own handiwork. He’d killed with the blade before, but not like this. Not as _close_ as this.

  Rafaella crumpled, but not before Erin caught her before she could hit the ground. He was surprised at his own reflexes; he didn’t really know whether he was supposed to hold her, or not.

  A clatter at his side told him Excalibur’s chains had released him, the blade satisfied for the moment as it reverted back into a crucifix. It was a poison as its holy metal burnt a hole into Rafaella’s chest, even after it was removed; the hole grew bigger, the burnt edge corrupting Rafaella’s flesh like rust on metal. It was both fascinating and horrifying to watch; Erin was transfixed.

  Rafaella was staring at the rafters far above, her expression a mixture of sadness and… irritation?

    “What, no last words this time?” Erin asked, testing the waters with a little bit of humour. There wasn’t much else he could do with a dying woman in his arms.

    “I don’t need them, do I?” Rafaella answered bitterly.

    “No… I guess you don’t.”

    “…Am I really here?” she asked finally after a long moment.

  It was the last thing she ever said.

 

  The moment the words left her words, she melted into black ash in Erin’s arms, the ash blowing away by an unseen wind until there was nothing left of the vampire at all. It reminded him of the vampire’s actual death. It wasn’t a good feeling, and definitely an even worse memory.

    “No, you’re not,” he breathed into the empty air.

 

  He stood and dusted off his pants as the heavy oak door into the chamber opened, three people coming into the room and not looking the least bit surprised by the destruction within. The one in the lead—a middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper hair and glasses, dressed smartly in a dress-shirt and trousers—came to stand across from Erin, a subdued but genuinely happy smile tugging at his lips.

 

  Reaching his hand out toward Erin, he said:

 

    “Congratulations, Mr. Takashima; you’ve passed your final exam. Consider yourself a Parlour graduate.”


End file.
